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“What happened?”
Jim Brass, standing just behind Nick Stokes’ shoulder, consulted his notes. “The victim says your nephew there - who she identified as ‘Warren or Wayne or Walker Texas Ranger or some shit’-”
“It’s Wyatt,” said Nick.
“Well good, that jives with his ID. Anyway, she says he hit her in the ribs and face, and then stole her purse with three thousand dollars cash, her cell phone, keys, and an expensive bracelet. When officers picked him up he had the purse minus the cash and the bracelet. Arresting officer said he complained of a headache; checked him over for an injury but didn’t find anything. They gave him an aspirin and he’s waiting to be processed. I can’t let you do it, obviously,” Brass said, folding his notebook. “He didn’t so much ask for you as demand, and he doesn’t seem to want to talk to anyone else.”
“Did he use his phone call?”
“No - he asked for your cell phone number and seemed personally offended when the officer refused.”
Nick shook his head and sighed. “You mind if I talk to him?”
Brass shrugged. “As a professional courtesy, I don’t think a conversation would hurt.”
“Thanks, Jim,” said Nick, looking through the two-way glass. Inside the next interrogation room, a very worried looking young man sat with his arms crossed on top of the table, with his chin resting on his arms. Nick looked at him closely, at their similar face shapes and coloring, and shook his head.
Brass cleared his throat. “So how should we do this, hm? Little good cop, bad cop?”
Nick thought for a moment, chewing on his thumbnail. “Wyatt’s a soft kid; I don’t think he even knows how to throw a punch. You do what you gotta do - I’ll tell him to trust the process.” Then a slow smile spread across his face, and he turned to look at Brass over his shoulder. “Give it to Detective Curtis.”
Brass paused, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “You’re mean, Nicky.”
“Yeah,” he replied, looking back at the young man. “Yeah, a little bit.” Brass chuckled, and walked away.
When Nick opened the door of the interrogation room, the young man inside jumped to his feet. “Thank God! Uncle Nick, where’ve you been?” He moved in for a hug, but Nick stopped him.
“Hey, Wyatt,” he said. “You haven’t been processed yet - let’s hold off on the hug. I’m on the clock, man. I can’t just come when you call, you know.”
Wyatt sighed and let his arms hang to his sides limply. “I’m just glad you’re here. Look - I didn’t do what they’re saying I did.”
“Just chill out for a sec,” said Nick. “Listen. I just talked to Captain Brass about the young lady that says you did, and unfortunately, the evidence agrees with her. You were found with her purse.”
“But I didn’t take it and I didn’t hit her.”
“I know, man, I know,” said Nick, holding up a hand. “All you need to do is cooperate. Trust the process and tell them exactly what happened. Don’t withhold anything, even if you think it might be embarrassing, and keep your cool. Okay?”
“Okay? What do you mean, okay ? You can’t do something? Ask them to drop the charges or whatever? You know I didn’t do it!”
“Yeah, I do, Wyatt,” Nick reassured him. “But you need to settle down, okay? I don’t know who you think I am around here but no one is going to drop assault and theft charges on my say-so.”
Wyatt was dissatisfied with his uncle’s response and flopped in a chair. “So what do I do?”
“Like I said, you cooperate. Okay?”
“Fine!”
Nick scowled at his nephew. It could simply have been the stress of the situation, but something was off about him. “Look - what are you doin’ in Vegas anyway?”
“It’s my birthday trip,” he replied. “My friends Sam and Oliver surprised me with it.”
Nick nodded. “That’s right. You turned 21 a few weeks ago.”
Wyatt crossed his arms. “Pfft. Yeah, some birthday. I don’t even know where Sam and Oliver are!”
The door rattled open then, and Warrick Brown walked in. Confused, he rumpled his brow and checked his assignment sheet. “Nicky? I thought this was mine.”
“It is,” said Nick. “Warrick, this is my nephew, Wyatt.”
Warrick’s eyes rounded out. “Oh. Yeah, this’ll be mine, then. Sorry to have to meet you under these circumstances, man.”
Wyatt shook his head and looked away. Nick scowled at him, and then shifted his attention to Warrick. “I better step out,” he said, and moved to do so. As he passed Warrick, he leaned in close. “Man, he is . . . not right.”
“You think he’s on somethin’?” asked Warrick.
“I don’t know,” said Nick. “Maybe. If he is, he either doesn’t know it or he’s too embarrassed to say. Find me when you’re done?”
Warrick nodded. “Sure.”
Nick was chatting with Officer Akers by a vending machine when Warrick tapped him.
“We picked out those silicone wedding bands, you know - just for work,” Nick was saying. “I thought she might want gold to match the real ones, but she picked black.”
“That’s not a bad plan,” said Akers, and then turned to Warrick. “Hey, Brown.”
“I hate to interrupt your jewelry discussion,” said Warrick, “but Nick, I’m done with Wyatt.”
Nick turned to Officer Akers. “I’ll see you around,” he said, and then headed with Warrick back to the room where Warrick had left Wyatt with Officer Mitchell.
“What do you think?” asked Nick.
Warrick lifted his brows. “Well, I don’t know how he usually is, but with me he was fidgety. Kept saying he didn’t know anything, all his memories are fuzzy. I know he’s a college kid - does he drink a lot?”
“Probably not any more than your average college student,” said Nick. “I don’t think he smokes, but I could be wrong about that.”
“Hm. He kept complaining about the light, too.”
Nick squinted at him. “Too much light?”
“He didn’t say,” said Warrick. “Just said it was terrible, which to be fair, it is. He’s all fuzz and fidget. He’s definitely on somethin’. Might just be a bad reaction to weed.”
They’d arrived at Wyatt’s interrogation room then, where Sofia Curtis stood waiting. “Hey guys,” she said with a smile.
“Hey Sofia,” said Warrick. “I’m done processing him - he didn’t answer a lot of questions clearly, but if you want to take over here, I’ll process the vic.” Warrick handed her the paperwork.
Sofia nodded. “Sounds good to me.” She shifted her gaze to Nick as Warrick walked away. “I understand you requested me.”
Nick smiled. “Only the best for my family.”
“I’m flattered,” she replied with a smile of her own. “Does he know you requested me?”
“I don’t think he knows his ass from a hole in the ground right now,” said Nick, looking slightly worried.
“Well, I’ll start off gently,” Sofia promised. “But I have to do my job. And you’ll have to be hands-off.”
Nick nodded. “I know.” Then he grinned. “I’d like to be hands-on later, though.”
Sofia’s eyes sparkled as she rebuked him. “ Deeply inappropriate, Stokes. Just introduce me.”
With a nod, Nick replied. “It’d be my pleasure, Detective,” he said, and he opened the door of the interrogation room.
Sofia followed him in, nodding to Officer Mitchell as she closed the door behind her.
“You need me to stick around?” he asked.
Sofia and Nick exchanged a look. “Yeah, that’d be best,” said Sofia.
“Sure,” said Mitchell.
“Thanks, Mitch.” She turned toward the young man sitting at the table. “Hello, Mr. Stokes. I’m here to take your statement.”
Wyatt looked her up and down, but said nothing. Nick scowled as he observed his nephew. “Wyatt. A lady just walked into the room - get on your feet.”
“She’s not a lady - she’s a cop ,” he protested.
Nick scowled at him and crossed his arms. “Is that really how you wanna play this, hoss?”
Sofia held up a hand. “It’s all right, Stokes. Wyatt, I’m Detective Curtis. Why don’t you tell me what happened?” Sofia sat down across from Wyatt and Nick, her pen at the ready.
“Is this all on the record?”
“Depends,” said Sofia. “We can just start out with a conversation, if you need your emotional support uncle in the room.” She ignored the sardonic look Nick leveled at her.
Wyatt rolled his eyes. “Look, like I told that other guy - I don’t know. I don’t remember anything. But I know I didn’t hit anyone or steal anyone’s purse.”
“Okay. So what do you remember about last night?”
Wyatt sat up straight and leaned toward Sofia as he yelled, “I don’t know what you don’t understand about I don’t remember! ”
“Wyatt, do not yell at Detective Curtis.” Nick’s voice was low with warning. “Like I said, you help yourself by being as transparent as possible.”
Wyatt crossed his arms across his chest. “I don’t know what happened. And I don’t know how many times I have to say that.”
“Unfortunately that isn’t helpful,” said Sofia. “I understand that you don’t remember much. Just start with what you do remember.”
“That would be nothing!”
Sofia sighed, and flicked her eyes over to Nick, who was clearly upset with his nephew. “Let’s just take it one step at a time,” she said. “Just take a moment, and think. We can take as much time as you need. When did you meet the victim?”
“I don’t even know who the victim is!”
“C’mon, man. Cool it.” Nick’s patience was running low.
“Her name is Sandra Davis. Do you remember that name?”
“No.”
“Do you remember her face?”
“I don’t remember anything !”
“ Wyatt ,” growled Nick, “if you yell at Detective Curtis one more time, you and me are gonna have problems.”
“Yeah - I heard you flirtin’ with her in the hallway, Nick - aren’t you getting married? What’s your fiancee gonna say about that, huh?”
“You just wait, you'll find out.”
“Can we focus , please?” barked Sofia. Nick backed down, and held up a hand in apologetic surrender. Irritated, Sofia reached into the folder she’d gotten from Warrick and extracted a photo, which she slapped on the table in front of Wyatt. “This is what the victim looks like. Do you remember her?”
Wyatt looked at the photo, but flinched a little. “No! And I didn’t do that to her!” He pushed the photo back over at Sofia.
Sofia sighed and leaned back in her chair.
Wyatt turned to Nick. “Can you help me out here?”
“Well, I can tell you that’s her bored face,” said Nick.
“How is that helpful?”
“I think it’s helpful for you to know that unless you start saying something interesting, she’s just gonna send you back to holding.”
“‘ I didn’t do it’ isn’t interesting,” added Sofia. “I’ve heard it before.”
“But I didn’t-”
Nick turned to Wyatt. “Listen, kid, I don’t know why you’re being so tight-lipped about all this, but you’re pissin’ me off,” he said. “Maybe you think what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but it doesn’t. You need to start talkin’ or this is all going on your very real record which will make its way to Texas and all those medical schools you want to get into.”
Wyatt crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Sofia. “I want a lawyer.”
Nick sighed. “It doesn’t have to get to that, Wyatt.”
“I want. A lawyer .”
“Okay. I’ll get you a lawyer. Might be a while, though - Vegas is a busy place.”
“Well you can only hold me for 24 hours,” he said, still glaring at Sofia.
Sofia lifted a brow at him. “So you know something suddenly,” she said. Wyatt’s scowl deepened. “It’s still only partially right. I can hold you without a charge for 24 hours. If I charge you, I can hold you for as long as I want, and right now what I want is to charge you with obstruction.” She stood and gathered the folder. “This officer will take you back to holding.”
As Mitchell moved to cuff Wyatt, Nick’s hand landed with a thud on Wyatt’s shoulder. “It’s late, Wyatt - don’t wait up.”
Sofia thanked the officer as he led Wyatt away. “I’ve got other interviews to do - I’ll catch up with you later,” she said to Nick.
Dissatisfied with the way the discussion had gone, Nick could only nod as she went back to work. With a resigned sigh, he reached for his cell phone as he stood, and dialed a number.
“Hey - I know - I know it’s late. I’m sorry. Yeah, no - no, I’m okay. Yep, above ground and walkin’ around,” he said with a chuckle. “Are you still licensed to practice in Nevada? Oh, good. I got a client for you.”
It was close to ten o’clock the following morning when Nick made his way back to the police department to visit with Wyatt in holding.
“How you holdin’ up, Wy?”
“It’s so hot in here. And how’m I supposed to sleep with these lights?”
Nick’s eyes narrowed - it wasn’t particularly warm in the holding cell, and it wasn’t particularly bright, either. “You’re not. Might’ve escaped your attention, son, but this is not the Bellagio. You were arrested for assault and theft. Those are serious charges.”
Wyatt sighed and looked exhausted. “I know, Uncle Nick, I know - but I didn’t do any of that stuff. Okay? I need some help here.”
The young man looked miserable, which pleased Nick. “Listen, Wyatt, I’m sorry I was so hard on you last night. But you caught me off guard, okay? I didn’t even know you were in Vegas - first I heard of it was when Captain Brass hollered at me about my bratty nephew. And then you acted like a punk with Detective Curtis. That’s embarrassing for both of us.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. Let’s just move forward, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Now, Detective Curtis is available again, and I’d like you to go speak with her. Be as cooperative as you can, and act like you got some sense. I got you the best lawyer I know.”
“Thank you, Uncle Nick.”
“You’re welcome, Wyatt. This officer’s gonna bring you to a room. I’ll see you in a minute.”
A few minutes later, Nick found Wyatt and Sofia in an interrogation room. Sofia leaned against the far wall, reviewing the case file, which now included Warrick’s notes on the victim, and Wyatt sat with his arms crossed and his eyes closed. Nick entered the room, holding the door open.
“Wyatt, your lawyer’s here.”
“Finally,” said Wyatt, opening his eyes. “What’s he been doing all this time, sitting on his thumb?”
The color drained from his face when the lawyer walked in. She was polished and stately, and held a briefcase in one hand with the initials JLS pressed into the fine leather near the handle.
“Good morning, Wyatt.” She set her briefcase down on the table next to him.
“Grandma?”
Nick took advantage of Wyatt’s stunned silence to introduce the two women. “Detective Curtis, this is Jillian Stokes - I’m sure you can infer her other titles,” he said with a smile.
Sofia and Jillian shook hands. “I wish these were better circumstances,” said Jillian.
“So do I,” replied Sofia. Then she turned to Wyatt. “I’m pretty sure you should be on your feet, Wyatt.”
Wyatt stumbled to his feet and fumbled with words a little as his grandmother took a seat next to him.
“Can I get you a cup of coffee, Momma?”
She smiled. “Thank you, Nicky - I’d like that.”
Nick offered the same to Sofia, but she declined. “Be right back,” he said as he headed for the door.
“Nick? You’re gonna stay here, right?”
Nick turned and faced his nephew. “For the interview? No. You asked for a lawyer - I got you one.” When the young man began to protest, he held up a hand. “Let’s not forget who signs my paychecks. I think it’s best if I stay out of the room. Don’t you, Mrs. Stokes?”
“Yes I do. Sit down, Wyatt.”
Wyatt scowled in frustration. “You’re supposed to be the cool uncle!”
“I am the cool uncle,” replied Nick.
Jillian glared up at her grandson. “Wyatt, sit down.”
“Hey, you got one phone call and you called me . If you wanted to pick your own lawyer, you should’ve used the phone book.”
“Why’d you have to call Grandma?”
Now Nick scowled right back at him. “You’re damn lucky I didn’t call your dad!”
“Sit down , Wyatt!”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Nicholas, I have been up since three AM. You offered coffee - produce it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Sofia watched Nick leave, and then turned to Jillian. “I’d be happy to give you a moment with your client before we begin,” she offered.
“Thank you, Detective,” replied Jillian. “We won’t need long.”
Sofia left, closing the door behind her. A moment later she could hear raised voices - specifically Jillian’s - punctuated by what she could only assume were Wyatt’s replies of “yes, ma’am” and “no, ma’am” as his grandmother lectured him.
Nick returned with Jillian’s coffee then, smiling at Sofia. “Detective Curtis.”
“CSI Stokes,” she replied with a smile and a dip of her head.
“You look good,” said Nick. “I like that vest.”
Sofia ran her hand down the front of her torso. “Thank you.”
Nick’s eyes sparkled as they crinkled at the corners. “I’m sure my fiancee wouldn’t like it if I told you this, but I think it’d look better if you wore it without a shirt . . . or anything else.”
“Maybe you should ask your fiancee to do that,” countered Sofia.
“Maybe I will.”
She chuckled a little, and leaned against the wall again. “Your mom seems nice.”
With a laugh, he shifted the coffee cup he held from his left to his right. “Not when she’s pissed,” he said. “I don’t envy Wyatt right now, but he is actin’ a fool. I’m just glad she’s not pissed at me.”
“Me too,” Sofia admitted. “Although, that might not last long.”
The door of the interrogation room opened then, and Jillian poked her head out. “Thank you, Detective - we’re ready.” Her eyes shifted to Nick, more particularly to the coffee cup he held, and she reached for it gratefully. “Thank you, baby.”
“You’re welcome - y’all keep me posted, all right?”
Sofia nodded as Nick kissed his mother’s cheek and walked away, and indicated that Jillian should proceed into the room ahead of her. Wyatt looked far more contrite than he had earlier.
“Where are your manners, Wyatt?” demanded Mrs. Stokes when Wyatt failed to rise to his feet.
Wyatt served Sofia with another glare, but started to stand. Sofia held out her hand to still him. “It’s all right, Mrs. Stokes - I’m not a lady; just a cop. Right, Wyatt?” Sofia could feel Mrs. Stokes’ gaze shift to her grandson as the two women sat down, but she kept her own eyes on Wyatt as he settled back in his chair.
Sofia took a moment to document the pertinent details of the interview on the recorder she held. “All right, Wyatt. Let’s start over. Tell me what happened on the night of April eleventh.”
Wyatt took a deep breath. “Okay. I was at the Double Down with my friends. We were just . . . minding our own business, you know? Having a good time. And these three hotties-”
Jillian smacked Wyatt’s bicep. “You were taught better respect than that.”
“ Women ,” he corrected, “approached us. Okay? And they wanted . . . they just wanted to hang out.”
Sofia paused to see if Wyatt would make his own connections about what he’d just said. Wyatt, however, was silent, so she clarified for him. “So you’re at the Double Down?”
“Yes.”
“And three women approached you?”
“Yes.”
“And what did they say when they approached you?”
“I don’t know . . . they said hi,” shrugged Wyatt. “And asked if we were looking-” He stopped and sighed, and closed his eyes.
Sofia smirked. “Therrrre it is.”
Jillian turned to her grandson. “Did they ask if you were looking for a good time, Wyatt?”
Wyatt slumped in his seat. “Yes, ma’am,” he said in a small voice. She whacked him again.
“So let’s start over, again. You and your friends were at the Double Down drinking when you were approached by three hookers,” said Sofia. Wyatt visibly cringed at the word. “What next?”
“I don’t know. We were just talkin’, y’know?”
“What were you talking about?”
Wyatt shrugged again. “I don’t know - stuff. Family and whatever. I think I remember something about horses. I guess I had too much.”
“What were you drinking?”
“I don’t know. Bourbon, I guess?”
“Bourbon, you guess. Okay - were you buying? Or were they?”
“We bought our own? Except . . . except the last round. They bought that round. She said . . . she’d just won a bunch of money and it was her treat.”
“She? Sandra Davis, the victim?”
“I think so. Um, she was blonde.”
Sofia flicked her eyes over to Jillian, and back to Wyatt again. “What happened after that?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I really don’t know. Just - everything is fuzzy.”
“How much had you had to drink?”
“I don’t know-”
“You don’t seem to know much, Wyatt,” snapped Sofia. “Think. How many drinks?”
“I don’t-”
“Guess!”
“Three - I think. I think!”
“You’re badgering my client, Detective.”
“Your client is being accused of assault and robbery, Mrs. Stokes - he needs to stop being coy and start answering questions.”
“Sit up, Wyatt,” Jillian mumbled at her grandson, and she smacked his arm again. “Was it three? Is that your best guess?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Wyatt, sitting up taller.
“And you don’t remember anything after that?” When Wyatt responded in the negative, Sofia pressed on. “What time was that?”
Wyatt, to his credit, now seemed to actually be thinking. “Um. We left the hotel at around . . . around nine. And it took almost an hour to get to the bar - Sam complained about that. There was a lot of traffic on the strip. And the last time I remember looking at my watch, it was almost eleven thirty.”
“So you don’t remember anything after - what? Midnight?”
He nodded. “Or a little earlier.”
“And what happened when you woke up?”
Wyatt shook his head. “It’s fuzzy. Knocking on the door - loud knocking. And a cop, yelling - he pulled me up off the bed and made me dizzy when he cuffed me. My head hurt so bad - and someone was talking about a purse. And then a different cop asked someone . . . ‘ Is that him? ’ And they said yes. And then . . . I’m here.”
“All right. Let’s go back a little further. You said you were with friends, drinking at the Double Down.”
“Yes.”
“Who are your friends?”
“Um . . . Sam Dennard. And Oliver McFadden.”
“According to the arresting officer, you were alone in your hotel room. Where were they?”
“I don’t know.”
“Of course you don’t.”
Wyatt covered his face with his hands, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips. He winced a little at his right hand, and cradled it in his left.
It was a small gesture, but it caught Sofia’s attention. A triangle-shaped bruise had bloomed across Wyatt’s knuckles; she didn’t remember seeing it the night before. “What happened to your hand?”
Wyatt shook his head. “I don’t-”
“You don’t know. Do you know whether you’re right handed?”
“Does she have to be so mean ?”
“No, she doesn’t,” replied his grandmother, with a glance at Sofia.
Wyatt glanced at Sofia’s bare left hand and scoffed. “No wonder nobody wants to marry you.”
“Honest to God, Wyatt!” Jillian punctuated her words with another smack to Wyatt’s arm. “Who raised you?”
Wyatt yelped and covered the spot where she kept smacking him. “Isn’t that assault?” he asked Sofia.
“Yeah, sure is,” she replied. “Are you right handed, Wyatt?”
The young man put his hands in his lap and sighed. “No. I’m a leftie.”
“When CSI Brown processed you yesterday, did he take pictures of your hands?”
Wyatt rumpled his brow and thought. “No. No, I don’t think so.”
“Did you have that bruise when you were arrested?”
He paused again, and then slowly shook his head. “No.”
“Good. That’s good work, Wyatt. Think about what you need to say before you just say you don’t know.”
Jillian raised an eyebrow, reminding Sofia fiercely of Nick. “Detective, this is unnecessary. If anyone is going to belittle my grandson, it’s going to be me . Kindly focus on the issue at hand.”
“My apologies, Mrs. Stokes,” she replied brightly with a smile at Jillian. “I was only trying to help. But now we’re getting somewhere.” She turned back to Wyatt. “Would you consent to an x-ray of your hands?”
“Why should I?”
“The victim is claiming that you punched her - twice in the ribs and once in the face. The injuries to your hand appear to be consistent with that.”
“So you’re just collecting more evidence so you can prove I did something I didn’t do.”
“Evidence is just evidence, Wyatt,” said Sofia. “It’s impartial - it’ll tell us what we need to know.”
Here Wyatt looked over at Jillian. “What should I do?”
“Consent to the x-ray,” she replied. “You don’t know what happened, but neither do they. So let’s see what the evidence says.”
“Can’t evidence be misinterpreted?” he sneered.
“It can,” replied Sofia, more amused than anything. “But that’s why your Nanna’s here.”
“ Detective .”
Wyatt sighed. “Okay.”
“Thank you, Wyatt. Why don’t the two of you just sit tight for a few minutes - I’ll be back.”
When Sofia returned to the room a few minutes later, with Warrick in tow, Wyatt’s scowl was a little deeper and Jillian was fiddling with her coffee cup. “Wyatt, you remember CSI Brown,” began Sofia as she breezed into the room. “He’s going to take some photos of your hands, and then we’ll get an officer to take you to the clinic for some x-rays.”
Warrick followed Sofia into the room, his camera and kit in hand. “‘Sup, Wyatt?” he asked, and nodded at Jillian. “Ma’am. Oh - Mrs. Stokes!” he exclaimed with pleased recognition.
“You two know each other?” asked Wyatt, unimpressed.
“Hello, Warrick,” said Jillian, shaking his hand when he set his kit down. “We met a few years ago when your uncle - well, your uncle needed me.”
Wyatt rolled his eyes. “He’s a grown ass man - what’s he need his momma for?”
Warrick and Sofia both looked up at Wyatt like he’d grown a second head. Jillian cleared her throat. “None of your business, Wyatt. And watch your language,” she snapped with enough venom that Wyatt stilled.
“Ask your uncle,” said Warrick coolly. “You might learn somethin’.”
He picked up his camera and instructed Wyatt where to put his hands. He snapped the photos he needed, and then turned to look at Sofia.
“I swabbed for epithelials when I processed originally - you need anything else?”
“Just the x-rays,” replied Sofia. “I’ll get that arranged.”
“What is the point of the photos when you’re going to take x-rays?” asked Wyatt.
“It’s just another layer of evidence,” said Warrick. “The photos, and the x-rays, are gonna show what they’re gonna show. If you hurt your hand punching someone, it’ll show that. But if you didn’t, it’ll show that, too.”
Wyatt sighed and sat down, rubbing his hand again.
“I assume it won’t be a problem if I give him some Tylenol for that,” said Jillian.
“Not at all,” said Sofia.
Jillian fished a bottle out of her purse and took two pills from it, handing them over to Wyatt with the cold remains of her coffee. Wyatt grumbled, but swallowed them.
“Wyatt, you can wait in here - an officer will take you to the clinic,” said Sofia. She turned to Jillian. “Nick’s waiting for you in the lobby, Mrs. Stokes.”
“Thank you, Detective.”
Warrick and Sofia walked shoulder to shoulder down the hall once an officer came to collect Wyatt. “What are you thinkin’ about all this?” asked Warrick.
“I think he was roofied,” said Sofia.
That surprised the CSI. “How you figure that?”
“Well, Brass said he complained of a headache when he was booked - the responding officer checked him over for a head injury on site but didn’t find anything. Wyatt reiterated that during interrogation - he said when he came to, an officer was cuffing him, and he had a massive headache. He can’t remember anything - both today and yesterday all he seemed to be able to say is ‘I don’t know’.”
Warrick looked thoughtful as the two of them came to the end of the hallway. “You know, when I came to process, Nick said Wyatt just wasn’t right. By the time I was done I thought he was on somethin’, for sure. If he was roofied, that would explain it - the headache, the confusion, and light sensitivity.”
“Right, and the general irritability. He said he’d only had three drinks and then everything was fuzzy.”
Warrick’s face cleared with understanding. “I think I know what’s goin’ on here,” he said. “Lemme see that picture of the vic.” Sofia turned it over to him, and he looked closely. “Yeah. You see this?”
Sofia looked closely at the photo. “I see an obscene amount of makeup,” she observed. “On top of the wound.”
“Yeah. And when I swabbed Wyatt’s hands for epithelials, I didn’t see any makeup. According to the officer who responded to her 911 call, she repeatedly said she would consider dropping charges if she could talk to his parents.”
“Talk to them for what?”
“Wyatt said he was talkin’ about horses and his family with the girls. I’ve been that age - couple drinks in and you’re Superman, you know?”
Thinking, Sofia nodded. “Yeah. Okay - Wyatt gets loudmouthed about his grandparents’ ranch, the vic overhears and thinks he’s got money.”
Warrick nodded. “Yeah. I think her plan was to convince Wyatt’s folks that she would drop the charges if they paid her. She says everything’s in her purse except the bracelet, which she’s got a receipt for, and the cash, which she’s got a W2G for.”
“Conveniently,” said Sofia, raising an eyebrow. Then she looked at the photo again. “That’s her left eye.”
“Yeah.”
“Wyatt just told me he’s left handed. The bruise is on his right hand. If he hit her, he’d have used his left hand.”
“Yeah, he would’ve. And her right eye would be messed up, not her left.”
Sofia nodded. “That’s right. I’ll have them take a urine sample at the clinic, too.”
Warrick checked his watch. “If you’re right, it’ll still show up. I’mma check the swabs I processed and see if we can expedite the tox screen when we get it.”
“Good plan. I’ll follow the paper,” replied Sofia.
Later that evening, once Jillian had napped, and Nick had slept his usual six hours, all three Stokeses were gathered in an interrogation room. Warrick joined them, and looked at Wyatt, who now sported a cast on his hand.
“Our medical examiner had an opportunity to review your x-rays,” he said.
“Do they say my hand is broken?” he asked, and Jillian thwacked him for his trouble.
“They say how your hand was broken,” replied Warrick. “I’mma need you to come with me.”
That stilled Wyatt, and he looked genuinely scared. “Can my Gr- . . . my lawyer. Can my lawyer come with me?”
Warrick nodded. “Yeah, she can. This way.”
He led the three of them just down the hall to a small observation room. Inside the adjoining interrogation room sat Detective Sofia Curtis and a blonde woman with an impressive shiner.
“I didn’t do that to her,” whispered Wyatt. Nick curled his hand around his nephew’s shoulder.
“Can you please state your name and date of birth for the record?” Sofia was asking.
“My name is Sandra Davis,” said the victim quietly. “May 19, 1998.”
“Thank you Sandra. I know you’ve gone over these details with CSI Brown, but can you please give me a summary of what happened on April eleventh?”
“You know - if I could just talk to the kid’s parents,” Sandra said. “I don’t want to make life difficult for him. I really just want my stuff back.”
Sofia nodded. “You might get a chance to do that,” she said. “But for now, let’s go over details.”
Sandra sighed, and slumped in her chair a little. “I was, um, I was with my friends,” she said. “We were celebrating - I had just won some money at the Mirage.”
“How much did you win?”
“Six thousand,” she said with a little smile. “I never win anything so it was kind of a big deal, you know? We went shopping. I’d always wanted one of those lock bracelets from Tiffany’s, so I bought one - it had a pearl and a diamond on it.”
Sofia smiled at her and nodded. “Yeah, those are cute.”
Sandra’s chin wobbled with sorrow again. “I know I should’ve gone right home to put it all away, but I thought I’d keep it safe in my purse.” She paused for a moment to collect herself. “Anyway, we went over to the Double Down because my friend is a bartender there.”
“Okay. What time was that?”
“Around eleven, I think,” she replied. “And while we were there, these three guys approached us. We could tell they were from Texas, y’know, with the big belt buckles. And two of them had on those hats.”
“They do like their belt buckles,” replied Sofia, lifting her brow. Warrick was the only one who chuckled.
“Yeah. They were cute, you know? And so we were chatting and I thought, you know, they’d just drink with us a little and have some fun.”
“What were you drinking?”
“Well, I was drinking whiskey sours. My friends usually drink margaritas . . . and the guys were drinking some kind of whiskey.”
“And who was buying?”
“We all bought our own. I’m at least smart enough to not let a stranger buy me a drink,” she said with a little laugh.
When Sofia looked up at her, Nick caught the glare in her eyes but new Sandra wouldn’t see it.
“Hm. What time was it?”
“I don’t think it was quite midnight.”
“Okay. Go on.”
“Well, after a round or two, the one guy . . . he asked if he could talk to me in private. And I thought he’d just get frisky, you know? Which would’ve been okay. But the next thing I know-” Here she stopped, and teared up.
“It’s all right, Sandra. Take your time.”
“She is lying ,” whispered Wyatt fiercely.
Nick’s hand around his shoulder tightened. “Keep it together, Wy. Detective Curtis knows what she’s doing.”
“She better,” said Jillian.
Sandra took a big breath in and continued her narrative. “The next thing I knew, he’d hit me. Slugged me right in the stomach. And then he punched me in the face so hard I barely knew what end was up.” She paused to sob and sniffle, and then continued. “He grabbed my purse - with everything in it. And he just ran.”
“Okay. And where did that occur?”
“Um . . . back by the bathrooms.”
“Did you yell? Or try to get anyone’s attention?”
“I was dazed,” she replied. “He almost broke my cheekbone - you can see for yourself.”
With a tilt of her head, Sofia gave Sandra a long look. “When he was hitting you,” she asked, “did you defend yourself? Put your hands up to protect your head?”
“I think so,” said Sandra with a nod. “Yeah - I told the other guy that, and he like, scraped my nails and stuff.”
Sofia nodded, looking at the folder in front of her. “All right. What happened next?”
“I was just so stunned and upset,” said Sandra. “I’m not really sure. Like, it didn’t even occur to me to call the cops until a couple hours later.”
“Did you tell your friend at the bar?”
“What friend at the bar?”
“You said you went to the Double Down because your friend is a bartender there,” clarified Sofia.
“Oh. Oh. . . no. No, I don’t think I told him. But like I said, I was in shock.”
“So you don’t know what happened or where you were between the time you were assaulted and the time you called the cops.”
“I . . . I don’t.”
Sofia nodded. “Right. You didn’t happen to get these guys’ names?”
“Um. The one who hit me? His name was Wyatt. I remember, because Wyatt Earp? You know? You don’t hear that name a lot. It’s interesting.”
“Hm. You told the arresting officer you didn’t remember his name, exactly,” said Sofia, meeting Sandra’s gaze across the table. “But now you do remember it, exactly. I think that’s interesting.”
“Well - I mean, I didn’t remember it at first,” she admitted. “But then, you know. I did.”
“Right. Did you get a last name?”
“No. Sorry.”
“And the other two men - I have the descriptions you gave to CSI Brown. Did you get their names?”
Sandra scoffed. “I don’t understand. I already told the other guy all of this.”
“I just need to verify some details - specifically, what happened between the time of the alleged assault and the time you called 911 at two AM.”
“I mean, I don’t know-”
“What about your friends? Do they remember?”
Sandra looked back at Sofia blankly. “I - probably? I don’t know. Ask them !”
Sofia sat back in her chair. “What are their names?”
“I already told the other guy!”
“Right. If you could just confirm.”
Sandra heaved a heavy sigh. “Sarah Carrino and Amy Lynn Wanamaker.”
She plucked two photos out of the file and laid them on the table. “These two?”
“Yeah. Those are my friends.”
Sofia tilted her head. “Yeah? Your friends who were picked up for solicitation at one AM?” She pushed the two photos forward. “Who just happened to be with two young men from Texas, who were also picked up?”
“Look, I’m the one who was assaulted! I told you, I don’t remember where I was or where they were - why are you grilling me ?”
“Well,” said Sofia, “mostly, Sandra, because that gap in your memory is where your story starts to fall apart.”
Sandra scowled at Sofia. “What are you talking about?”
“There is a bartender at the Double Down who remembers you, but not because she remembers selling you a round of three Jim Beams, neat - although, she did, according to the credit card receipt in your recovered purse. She remembers you and your two friends here helping a young man with a big belt buckle and a Stetson stumble past her at the bar.”
Nick made a face. “A Stetson? Really , Wyatt?”
“Shut up.”
“That isn’t true,” Sandra said. “I am telling you, he assaulted me - we were alone, in the back. Sarah and Amy Lynn weren’t there!”
“Well they have very different stories to tell,” Sofia informed her. Sandra crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, and the detective went on. “Using the information you - rather conveniently - provided to the officer who responded to your call, we arrested Wyatt Stokes and processed him. He was confused, dizzy, and sensitive to light, and he doesn’t remember anything past midnight.”
“How is that my problem?”
“Do you know what Rohypnol is?”
Sandra shrugged. “No.”
“It’s a date rape drug. It causes all of the symptoms exhibited by Mr. Stokes.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“You remember those fingernail scrapings that CSI Brown took?”
“Yeah. So?”
“So do you want to tell me why there are traces of Rohypnol under your fingernails?”
Wyatt’s mouth fell open. “Oh my God. This bitch roofied me!”
“I’m gonna let that swear go, Wyatt.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“We also swabbed Mr. Stokes’ hands,” Sofia was saying. “And not only was there no makeup on his hands, there is no evidence he touched you at all.”
“This is crazy! He punched me!”
“I’ve been in the Double Down, Sandra. It’s dark and the lighting is red. With a little makeup, no one would be able to tell that when you walked in, you already had a black eye.” Sofia plucked the photo of Sandra out of the file and slid it toward her. “There’s a suspicious amount of that supposedly fresh wound that’s still covered by a lot of makeup.”
“So you’re going to let this guy go based on what my makeup covered?”
“Sandra, I don’t know who gave you that black eye, but it wasn’t a kid from Texas, okay? Drop the act.”
Sandra’s resolve finally started to falter. “Look - I don’t have to press charges, right? It’s up to me. Let me just talk to the kid and his parents, okay? Like I said, I just want my stuff back.”
“I visited the Tiffany store and the Mirage,” snapped Sofia. “You didn’t win any money and you didn’t buy a three thousand dollar bracelet. The receipt and the tax form are both fabricated.” She glared at Sandra. “You overheard Mr. Stokes and his friends talking about their horses and their ranches in Texas and you saw dollar signs. You made friends, you bought them a round that you spiked, you separated them, and you set Mr. Stokes up to take the blame for a robbery that didn’t happen and an assault he didn’t commit.”
Sandra protested again, but Sofia informed her that she was under arrest, and listed off her charges, which included filing a false police report and extortion.
“Why do they always think we won’t check the paper?” wondered Warrick.
Nick shrugged. “She was probably thinkin’ the amount was small enough, it wasn’t worth validating, especially if she was going to drop the charges.”
In the other room, Sandra balked. “Assault? What assault are you charging me with?”
“You mean besides incapacitating at least Mr. Stokes with Rohypnol? You broke his hand,” she replied, plucking another photo from the file and sliding it toward Sandra. “This photo shows bruising consistent with a woman’s high-heeled shoe, and we can tell by the x-ray we compelled that his hand was stepped on. I’m going to get a warrant not just for the shoes you’re wearing, but all of your shoes,” she said with a smile. “I give you props for knowing that if Mr. Stokes had hit you, he’d have an injury. It’s just your bad luck that he’s not right handed.”
Sandra leaned back in her chair. “God damn it.”
Sofia rose and read Sandra her rights as she patted her down and cuffed her. When she was gone, Nick turned to Wyatt and squeezed his shoulder again. “You want that hug now?”
Wyatt let out a long sigh, and nodded. Nick wrapped him up in his arms and squeezed.
“You’re free to go, Wyatt,” said Warrick, once Nick had released him.
“Thank you, Mr. Brown,” said Jillian, and she shook his hand.
Nick looked over Wyatt, expecting to find him a puddle of relief, but the young man was quiet.
“Wy?”
“I don’t know where my friends are,” he said. “This whole time I’ve been so worried about myself - I don’t know if they’re okay.”
“Oh - they’re fine,” said Warrick. “I did some checking; they were let go with a warning. They didn’t have any symptoms of having been drugged - no gaps in their memories or anything. They should be back at your hotel by now.”
Wyatt shook his head. “I didn’t know Las Vegas was such a . . . shitshow.”
“Uh, it’s not,” said Nick, raising a finger. “There’s extortionists everywhere. And for your info Warrick’s a native, so let’s not insult my friend, okay?”
“Sorry. But this was a horrible experience.”
“Well, Wyatt, if you’d told me you were coming, I’d have told you to stay on the strip where you’d blend in with all the other tourists. Instead you drug your dumb ass to a place where your belt buckle and that stupid hat made you stand out like a sore thumb, and on top of that you answered the international mating call of the common working girl. I’ve told you, and all your cousins, on multiple occasions that if you come to Vegas, I’m happy to host and I’m happy to show you around. Instead you rolled your own - so guess what, you got to sleep in the bed you made.”
“But I didn’t know-”
“Until you did know, man.”
Wyatt sighed, and leaned against the wall. “Okay.” He shrugged, and shook his head. “You’re right. That’s fair. God, I am so tired.”
Nick chuckled. “Yeah, I bet you are.”
“I’m gonna go back to the lab,” said Warrick. “Mrs. Stokes, it was a pleasure. We’ll see you again soon, right?”
“Yes - the whole family will be here in a couple of months for the wedding.”
“I’m lookin’ forward to that,” replied Warrick. “See you then.”
“Goodbye, Warrick,” replied Jillian.
There was an awkward moment when Wyatt tried to figure out how to shake Warrick’s hand with the cast he now wore. With a laugh, Warrick offered a fist bump instead. “Thank you, Mr. Brown.”
“Yeah, you bet.” Warrick patted Nick on the shoulder as he left.
Nick helped Wyatt collect his personal effects, and then led his mother and nephew back out to the lobby. “Do y’all wanna grab some supper?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Wyatt readily. “I am starving .”
“Nicky, I don’t believe Wyatt has met your fiancée,” said Jillian brightly. “Why don’t you see if she can join us?”
Nick grinned. “That’s a good idea. Wyatt, you game?”
“Yeah - that’d be cool. She sounds so nice.”
Nick smirked and unlocked his phone, placing it to his ear. “Hey. You wanna have supper with Wyatt and Momma? Great - see you in a minute.” Nick pocketed his phone, and looked over at Wyatt. “She’s on her way.”
A few minutes later, they heard footsteps coming toward them. Nick shifted his attention to a spot behind Wyatt and smiled. “Hey.”
“Hey,” said a voice, which Wyatt found uncomfortably familiar. “I heard you were flirting with a detective in the hallway.”
Nick grinned. “She was real pretty,” he admitted. “I couldn’t help myself.”
Wyatt covered his face with his uninjured hand. “Oh my god .”
A swoop of blonde hair leaned into his uncle’s personal space then, and he heard the smack of a kiss. Vaguely, he heard his grandmother greet someone pleasantly. When Wyatt straightened up, he found himself looking into the intense blue eyes of his personal interrogator.
“We should probably start over, don’t you think?”
He heaved a sigh. “Yeah. Yeah, that would be best.”
Nick chuckled and presented his fiancée with pride. “Wyatt, meet your new Aunt Sofia.”
(c) 2023 J. H. Thompson